Glisseo
by loch.nessie.monster
Summary: Hermione's always been intrigued by the secretive Harry Potter. In Hermione's fifth year at Hogwarts, an advanced spell-making course heralds the start of an experience with Mr. Potter that she will never forget...well, until the end of time, anyway. H/Hr
1. Chapter 1

Hi, everyone! This is the first chapter of my NaNoWriMo attempt and as such, it's highly unedited (and probably awful to read, as well as inaccurate in places). I also need to warn you that at some of this story switches between tenses quite frequently, so I'm really sorry about that. Anyway, read on - hopefully, it's enjoyable. :)  
_~ Ness_

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**Glisseo** - **Chapter 1**

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Scotland was bright today.

Hermione Granger slid out of her bed, falling to the floor with a muted _thump_. Moaning a little, she pulled herself up using the bed frame, ignoring the sudden light-headedness that resulted from this motion. Her head full of mush and dizziness, she fell back on to the bed, the red-gold bed sheets, the firm mattress. Thirty minutes until breakfast.

Another day of being a fifth-year. She quite liked it...and...even though her OWLs were coming up, she couldn't quite wait. More learning for her to undertake, more knowledge accumulating that she could use. Maybe she could help to defeat Voldemort, in her own small way. Maybe spell-making...something to help the hero of this war defeat this dark lord.

Once the dizziness subsided, she stood up again, unaided. She scuffled her way to the bathroom, got ready for breakfast, and got out the portrait hole. Ronald Weasley met her as she pulled herself out of the portrait hole. "Hey, Hermione," he acknowledged, nodding, and they walked off towards the Great Hall together.

As they tread through the corridors, the regulars met them along the way. Ms Norris was lurking around the coats of armour, as usual (Ron met her with a hefty kick); Sir Cadogan bowed to Hermione; as they traversed the stairs, the familiar non-existent step had Ron clumsily scrambling and on his knees to get back up (Peeves: "Ickle student fall; will ickle student bawl?"); and the warm smiles given to the two by the portraits of Hogwarts. It was a normal day, thus far.

The doors of the Great Hall were open and they hurried along, the smell of food never ceasing to engage their olfactory nerves and stir up their stomachs. With Ron smelling the air contentedly, Hermione smiled and slid smoothly into a spot at the Gryffindor table. Her smile met the _hello_s and _hey_s and _good morning_s offered to her by people in her house group.

A quick gaze across the staff table produced no shock to her. The staff at the table were those who regularly sat at that table, so she turned away, her awareness finding nothing unusual about the teachers today. Content, she heaped a normal amount of food onto her plate and into her bowl. Sipping pumpkin juice (_'Honestly, you'd think that they'd come up with something new eventually.'_), she listened in to the conversation sating the table's gossip mongering traits.

"The latest edition of the _Daily Prophet _says that Dumbledore is losing his marbles!"

"Well, someone had better go find them for him, then. I'm sure he's very attached to his marbles."

"You do realise that 'losing your marbles' is an idiom, right?"

"What's an idiom?"

Sighing, she turned away and listened to some people from the older years. They were discussing something she hadn't heard of, so she naturally tuned into this. Knowledge was power, in her world, although sometimes she was scared of what she was sure she couldn't achieve.

"...what did you get in that advanced spell-making course, Katie?"

"Oh! I earned a Distinction. Of course, I wouldn't've minded a High Distinction, but as it's university level...oh, I really, honestly, don't mind. A _Distinction_." Katie Bell, the girl talking, sighed happily. Her friend, beside her, gasped. "That's wonderful!"

Hermione tilted her head. A university level spell-making course? That sounded rather interesting. She would be able to experience the art of spell-making before she went to wizarding university. It would be a great head start, and she could sate her thirst for empowering knowledge. Not to mention that if she did well, it would be an incredible ego boost. The main problem was _how_ to get into the course. Who had referred this girl to it?

Never mind. She probably wouldn't even pass it. It _was _a university-level course, after all, and it must have been university-level for a reason.

"...so are you thinking of being a tutor for the next session?"

"Yes! _Oh_, and you know Harry Potter? He's going to be taking this course, too. I hope that I get him in my tutor group."

Hermione's ears pricked up at the mention of Harry Potter. She didn't actually know him in person – or at all, but for the fact that he'd allegedly defeated Voldemort while a baby. He was going to be taking this course? Interesting. Sure, he was in the same year as her, but he didn't attend show up in classes – Dumbledore and the staff tutored him privately, in the more advanced subjects...more advanced than NEWT level, so he had no reason to attend timetabled lessons. He was friends with those in higher years, not with his own year. His own house barely saw him, his whereabouts generally unknown. Doubtless, though, that he was being trained in magic by the best in their fields.

In short, he was a fucking teen prodigy.

His achievements made Hermione feel largely less intelligent than she had been praised by her classmates as. But she didn't mind. She would just pretend in her mind that he was an arrogant, full-of-himself prat, and that Dumbledore's fond speeches about his 'deadly, Voldemort-killing weapon' were simply spiels to increase morale throughout the school –

Thought she was largely sure that he was in some way pissed off by being called a weapon. It was damn dehumanising. Of course, she hadn't talked to him before, so she wouldn't know. _Stop dwelling on him, _she told herself. _You don't care about him, but for the fact that he's going to defeat Voldemort._

A sudden clap shook her from her internal monologue, and she looked up at a smiling Dumbledore as the plates, bowls, cutlery and food disappeared. The entire student body also turned their eyes to him.

Yeah, Dumbledore's powerful aura kind of demanded that sort of attention.

"We must be very careful when we give advice to younger people: sometimes they follow it!" Upon delivering his message, a slightly mad glint appeared in his eye, and he turned away, seemingly satisfied.

The student body muttered. They muttered suspiciously, confusedly, dazedly. No doubt about it. The student body was confused.

Hermione turned to Ron, and he quirked an eyebrow at her. "What did you think that was about?" he asked amusedly. She shrugged, smiling back, pondering already what he meant by that. An interpretation flew to the forefront of her mind. Really, she should have been in Ravenclaw.

"Perhaps he's saying that we shouldn't follow the orders of those with authority blindly."

Her interpretation, heard to a few people along her table, raised a few nods and exclamations of, "You're _brilliant_, Hermione!" She bit her lip nervously, not quite liking being praised in front of so many people, yet enjoying the compliment. That was the dilemma – she loved the praise, but she knew that she had to continue to live up to it...or she would disappoint herself and not satisfy the assertions that others made of her intelligence.

Feeling paranoid that someone was figuratively burning their eyes into her side, she looked up, to meet the startlingly emerald-green gaze of a decidedly handsome Harry Potter, who was a few metres away (talking animatedly with the Transfiguration teacher at the staff table). Holding her emotionless gaze, Harry nodded in silent acknowledgement of her interpretation of Dumbledore's speech. Hermione saw muted anger and understanding in his eyes, as if her recent little speech had struck a chord in him. He cocked his head a little, studying her, then turned away to continue conversing with Professor McGonagall.

Fuck, he irked her.

People started to move out of the Great Hall and she followed, mentally readying herself for the scathing onslaught that she had no doubt Potions would bring. In her dormitory, she gathered the materials she needed for her Potions lesson, and once again met Ron outside the portrait hole.

Swiftly making their way towards Potions, Ron and Hermione nimbly dodged the bumbling first years, who were clumsily tripping over solid stairs. Ron snickered under his breath, and she elbowed him...perhaps a little too vigorously. "Ouch!" he snarled...and poked her cheek in retaliation. Laughing, she slapped his hand away. She stifled it once she entered the classroom.

They were some of the first Gryffindors to turn up to their lesson; most of the Slytherins were there already, eager for some Gryffindor-bashing. Unfortunately for the idiots, the Gryffindors knew the best time to turn up so as to minimalise the collateral damage that would no doubt occur, should they turn up early.

The Slytherins didn't bug Hermione or Ron incessantly. Her elementary attempt at creating an illusion of a tiger snake had scared them shitless earlier this year, and consequently stopped them from bugging her too much. The Mudblood jibes still occurred, but it never got much nastier than that.

The rest of the Gryffindors in her class darted in warily, mainly to avoid the ire of the teacher who was approaching the doorway. His class fully seated, Snape swept in and scowled as he realised that no points were able to be taken today for being late.

"Today, you will be creating the Invigoration Draught. I am perfectly sure that you are all capable of brewing it, but will no doubt fail at doing so, due to your sheer inadequacies and stupidity." His eloquent speech unleashed upon his mute class, he revealed the ingredients on the board.

"What are you looking at? I'm not a bat, you idiots realise. Start the potion, or it'll be too late to make it."

Instructions delivered, the class hurriedly made their way to the ingredient cupboard, yanking and scuffling to get their ingredients in a fierce battle of the hands and arms. Hermione was standing at her desk, severely tickled by the idiocy and slowness of her fellow classmates.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for schadenfreude."

Hermione offered Snape a heated, hating look and he gladly took away five more for impudence. Later, when she and Ron were walking out of the classroom, Ron asked her what impudence and schadenfreude meant.

She sighed, shrugged her shoulders again, and made her way to the Transfiguration classroom. "Taking malicious delight in the misfortunes of others." He looked at her oddly, and she frowned.

"I was amused by the scuffles and mini-fights you were all having to get the ingredients, when there was an ingredients cupboard on the other side of the room. I don't think that should've counted as schadenfreude, though."

"Yeah, it shouldn't have. Stupid Snape."

"Shut up, Ron," she warned him – who knows who was listening to them – if it was Snape himself, they would be in for punishment – but silently agreed with his statement. She banished malicious thoughts of Snape to the back of her mind as she entered her Transfiguration class with Ron. The tabby cat at the door purred, and Hermione gave it an affectionate pat.

The class of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors was seated, and then McGonagall made her appearance, transforming lithely back into a human. "Good morning, class. Today, we will be learning to turn small objects into stone – larger objects require much more effort and precision on your part, so we will stick merely to smaller objects."

Hermione smiled. She'd performed this spell before. It would be a piece of cake, with sweet icing on top.

Once McGonagall had instructed the class on how to perform the spell, she motioned for Hermione to come up to her desk. Frowning, she took a moment to smoothly transfigure the rose lying on her desk into solid stone – much to the jealousy of her peers, their own efforts failing miserably – and made her way to the Professor's desk. "Professor?"

"Miss Granger," the Professor said amiably, "your talent at Transfiguration has led me to believe that you should be placed in a higher class. Unfortunately, I have neither the time to tutor you in higher-level Transfiguration or the ability to transfer you to sixth year. To transfer you to sixth year would require that you were achieving an average of an O score in every subject, and your Divination grade –" at this point she sputtered, mildly outraged – "is an A. Much as I think that Divination should not count as a subject, rules are rules and unfortunately I cannot move you higher."

Hermione stood there, the praise soaking her dried-up ego.

"But, I can do something for you. Are you interested in spell-making? There's a university-level course on offer for wizarding students that are not attending university at the time. They'll accept around thirty people, and I think you're a perfect candidate, Miss Granger. Hopefully, so will the course co-ordinators, but I have no doubt in my eyes that you are more than capable of doing well in this course."

Hermione was suddenly ecstatic – an opportunity for higher education while still at Hogwarts. Oh, Merlin, this was just...incredible.

"Thank you so much, Professor. I'd love to apply. What does partaking in the course entail?"

McGonagall smiled. "The sessions will all be held at Hogwarts. There will be one tutorial lesson every week, held in the Great Hall on Thursday afternoons. For you, that'll be after Transfiguration, so that should not drain your magical reserves much, considering your talent." She left the compliment to sink in for Granger, then continued. "The tutorial lesson will be about three hours, and then you'll have a certain amount of homework to complete. After fifteen weeks, there'll be a final exam, after which, if you've passed, you can get this course on your transcript for wizarding university."

"How about the cost, Professor?"

"This course is provided to its participants free, Miss Granger, which is extraordinarily generous, as you may presume." She began to say some more, but –

She was stopped by the _chink _of breaking stone, as Ron's rose dropped onto Justin's head and broke. The class turned to the angry Finch-Fletchley.

"_Fuck!"_

Professor McGonagall swept up to his presence. "Five points from Hufflepuff, Mr Finch-Fletchley, for cussing."

Ron snickered.

McGonagall immediately frowned at him. "Ten points from Gryffindor, miscreant, for deliberately hurting another student, and schadenfreude."

_You'd think that the teachers were bloody walking dictionaries, _he grumbled to himself. "What's a miscreant, Professor?"

Hermione stays silent, waiting for someone else to answer. No one does.

"Twenty points from every House for their bleeding illiteracy," Professor McGonagall muttered under her breath, and walked off, not answering Ron's question.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi again :) So, obviously, this is Chapter 2. Thanks for the reviews on the first chapter - and I've realised that I'd forgotten something. The disclaimer. -.- Alright, Harry Potter and the associated trademarks are not mine - they are J.K. Rowling's. Lucky, awesome her. Anyway, I'm going to insert the disclaimer by means of #include stddisclaimer.h - if that's ok? I'm lazy. Also, the story will be posted slowly - not because I'm writing that slowly, but because I'm...well...lazy. Please enjoy, or as much as my abhorrent writing allows.  
~ _Ness_

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**Glisseo - Chapter 2**

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It's the day after Professor McGonagall offered her a place in the university-level spell-making course.

People are once again filing into the Great Hall for a lavish helping of breakfast and that damned pumpkin juice. It's still normal. Snape is scowling. Dumbledore is beaming. The first years are still gazing wondrously at who knows what. The Slytherins are snubbing Gryffindors. The Gryffindors are being brawny. The Ravenclaws are being...intellectual. The Hufflepuffs are supporting the boy whose parents have just been grievously injured by The-Man-Whose-Name-Everyone-Refuses-To-Say. And _him, _Harry Potter, is glaring at Dumbledore from his seat at the Gryffindor table, fists clenched.

It's a stereotypical breakfast at Hogwarts.

Then, the good old, somewhat lovable coot gets off his arse to make an announcement, gazing into the eyes of many. It's meant to make his announcement more important and solemn. The idiot doesn't realise that his presence renders the announcement important anyway.

"I'm sure that many of you have heard of an advanced spell-making course going on last year. It's a university-level course, made available to higher-year students who are particularly apt at Charms and Transfiguration. If you'd like to participate in this course and get more details, please see Professor McGonagall in the next few days. We only have about thirty spots, so only the best will be selected."

Hermione bites back an internal gasp at the realisation that: 1. Professor McGonagall has asked _her_ if she wanted to do it, not _herself _asking McGonagall to do it, and 2. This implied that she was among the best. Of course, she might've known that, deep inside, but she really wasn't sure.

Immediately, she notices the Ravenclaw table bursting into life with whispered speculations about the validity of the course, the content covered and whether they'd be able to get in. She smiles inside, and then frowns momentarily.

_I'm one of them, _she thinks.

Ron is tapping her on the shoulder while she frowns at the Ravenclaw banner. "Hermione," he asks, slightly Confunded, it seems – "do you think that I should have a go at getting into that course?" His eyes are clouded with some strange uncertainty.

_What a stupid question._

"Does spell-making appeal to you, Ron?" she questions. That would solve his stupid question.

He takes a few minutes to answer, chewing shrewdly on his bacon. It's a disgusting sight. She feels like telling him off, but decides to snort into her pumpkin juice instead, a bemused expression on her face. He really shouldn't be taking this long.

"I don't know," he says lamely, "but I was wondering if you'd want to do it...then, you know, I'd do it to if I could, so you wouldn't be lonely and, well, you know." Hermione notices, bless the boy, that his cheeks are flaming red and pink – however, doesn't make anything of it. Either way, his response leaves much to be desired and she goes straight in for the kill.

"Ron, you shouldn't really do something that you don't want to do. It's really nice of you to offer to do this to keep me company, but I shouldn't be the main reason that you do this. Even though I'm pretty sure that it's not that."

Well, little does she know that that's exactly why Ron asked the question.

Dear Ron had been continually asking her things that involved being near her, from their first year until now. She really didn't understand why he did it, and thought that he was a bit of a naïve little boy from the first time she'd met him. He was a good friend, though, and as her only close one, couldn't bear to cast him away.

She feels bad, though, for putting him down for not really wanting the course. Still, she doesn't know what to do, and so starts glaring at her pumpkin juice, since it seemed to be the only thing that everyone drank nowadays...and starts to wonder if she could turn it into water. Perhaps that would be her first self-set mini-project for spell-making. She would have to get ahead of the others first.

She didn't like being or feeling unprepared. When she will march into that first tutorial lesson, it will be with confidence. She will beat them all and amaze them and –

"Hey," Mr. So-Bloody-Good-At-Everything states, startling her. She whips around – and sure enough, it's him. The-Secretive-Lonely-Boy-Who's-Going-To-Kill-Voldemort. Funny. He's never given her the light of day before. Hmm. She has little doubt as to why he's talking to her, bushy-irritating-know-it-all which she knows she is.

"Hey, have you seen Dumbledore's lemon drops? The old man seems to have lost them," he inquires, not seeming sad at all about his mentor's loss.

_Well, that was considerably different to the topic that I thought we were going to converse about. _Quick thinking pulls a quick response from her brain. She draws out her wand, summons Ron's uneaten bacon (much to his utter discontent) and mutters a spell to transfigure the fatty meat into a full bowl of lemon sweets, verbatim copies of the drops that she would dare not eat.

"Previously, no. But now I can offer you lemon drops for your mentor."

Noting the surprised expression on the boy's face, she turns her back to him and continues to eat her breakfast cereal, in a civilised manner and with much more dignity than Ron the pig, who's wolfing down the food. She remembers that she still has the lemon drops in her hand, and twists around in her seat to check whether the Golden Boy is still hovering near her. Of course he's not. He's talking to Dumbledore again, eyes occasionally flickering towards the bushy-haired girl.

In an attempt at appearing wise (yes, the old git still wouldn't acknowledge his intelligence) Dumbledore strokes his beard while casting a gaze and light probe of Legilimency into Hermione's mind. Unfortunately for him, Hermione's current musings concerned thoughts of which were...not in the least relevant to what he wanted. Smart girl.

Hermione, noticing Dumbledore's attention (and feeling light strokes against her mind) had immediately started thinking about the most irrelevant, foolish thing possible. Dating a guy. She pictured kissing her future love. At first, a slight brush against her lips. A loving grasp on her back. Him pulling her further in. A further, more passionate kiss, and a synchronicity between them as they exchanged expressions of their love. Eventually, he would pull her into the nearest broom closet, and he would ravish her, and they would eventually consummate in the most perfect of rituals, the most beautiful and she would teach all those uncultured, horny bastards that they were _doing it wrong – _

Dumbledore withdraws from her mind.

_Success._

She smirks, and glances over to the Headmaster, desperately wanting to see signs of her victory. His face is blank and his eyes blank, clearly reeling from the intimate display her mind had welcomed him with. Or rather, had been intruded on with. Potter is patiently waiting for the Headmaster to respond to his latest statement, noticing also his changed expression...he follows Dumbledore's line of sight to the victorious Hermione, and arches a hairy eyebrow.

The little (or large, depending on the point of view of the incident) incident cheers her greatly for the rest of the week. Dumbledore starts to have trouble looking her in the eye during the rest of the week, and she's not sure whether this is a good thing or not. However, Potter keeps glancing at her curiously during breakfast over her porridge, during lunch over the shepherd's pie and during dinner over the spotted dick. At dinner, he merely quirks an eyebrow at her.

So, the week after she was asked by McGonagall if she wanted to do the university course, she was sitting calmly in the same class. McGonagall is smiling at her, and motions once again for her to come to the front. She does so, this time swiftly turning her block of stone back into an intricately detailed glass rose. Her Professor smiles at her as she does so.

"Miss Granger, we've organised the list of those who are attending the university-level course. I'm sure you will not be surprised, but your name is on that list. Congratulations. The first tutorial lesson will be held tomorrow. You know where to go. You also will only need your wand, and can dress in whatever you'd like."

In spite of her already knowing that she would get in, the affirmation of this makes her smile inside. She nods, beams at McGonagall, and makes her way back to her desk, watching others fail miserably.

Ron drops his block of stone – but with quick action and seemingly easy effort, Hermione fractures it into tiny little specks of stone, where they hit his feet harmlessly. Professor McGonagall congratulates her again, Ron gapes at her (with gratitude, she's sure) and she blushes as the class gazes at her quick handiwork.

The class's quiet appraisal of her work is enough to fuel her happiness for another few weeks. She goes to sleep smiling, and in anticipation of tomorrow's opportunity to light her torch of knowledge, and keep it burning for a while yet.

Hermione floats through her morning classes and afternoon classes, trying her hardest at everything just so that she can do well, and hence boost her ego, ready for a beating down during the afternoon session.

Finally, the afternoon session comes quickly. She's scrambling to get to the Great Hall early, and she's brushed across some of the basics of spell-making through the use of books in the library. It makes sense, so that's a good sign. She goes through some of it in her head. _You need to have a creative mind, and extensive magical ability at Charms and Transfiguration. An advanced understanding of the workings of magic are extremely useful, however, not necessary, as these will be covered during this book. Spell creation should also __**only **__be attempted while in the presence of a supervisor, should anything go awry._

She wonders how _Avada Kedavra _was created, and how many trials it took for it to work...and what the effects of the failed spell caused. Zombies? Comatose people? It would be an interesting topic to study.

She enters the Great Hall with trepidation, scared and excited and nervous and ecstatic about the course. Several people are already seated, in the line of seats lined up against the back and sides of the Great Hall. Potter is one of them, his head in his hands and his face tense. She decides not to sit next to him, and plonks down on the seat on the end nearest to her, the left side.

There are ten minutes until it starts. Dumbledore is pacing across the stage (where the teacher's table would normally be), not with anxiety, but with contemplation, obviously deep in thought. It's not an uncommon expression on his face.

The other person in the Great Hall who was not a student or Dumbledore was a young-looking female, pink hair sticking out at awkward angles and currently looking bored. She was morphing her facial features into grotesque imitations of old hags, probably to ward off stares. It wasn't working – Hermione was curiously observing her, admiring her Metamorphmagus ability. Potter smiled weakly at her – he must have been familiar with her from a previous experience.

More people filed in, people from higher years. It seemed that she and Potter would be the youngest people there. That was okay. It gave her an excuse to do badly.

Ten minutes up, and all thirty students were seated. Dumbledore took a look at the line of seats, nodded and waved to gain their attention. The pink-haired woman sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall. Her face was presumably looking as it did naturally.

Everyone gazed at Dumbledore. He cast a long look at Hermione, then at Harry, before clearing his throat and beginning his speech. "_Sonorus."_

"Good afternoon, students. You've all been selected to partake in the third running of a university course at wizarding schools. I'd like to congratulate you all on such a worthy achievement, and mention that I'm proud of all your abilities."

His gaze rested on Potter, who fidgeted and looked down.

"Now, I'm sure you've all been notified of what this course entails. You will need to participate in fifteen sessions of tutorials, and complete homework assignments and projects based on spell-making. The material you need will be covered in the tutorials, and there will also be a final exam composed of a theory and practical, based on the material covered throughout the entirety of this course. Should you finish with at least a pass, this can go on your university transcript, and you'll be able to skip this course at university, should it be needed. Also, should you feel that the workload is too much, you may drop out, but please make sure that the instructors will know. Lastly, please know that I expect you to still expend the same amount of effort in your regular classes as normal. And, at my expense, please have fun."

At this, he uttered, "_Quietus," _and gave a smile at them all, before moving out of the Hall. The pink-haired woman got up, and moved to where Dumbledore was standing. Her voice rang out loudly, without needing to increase the volume of her voice.

"Hey, guys. I'm Tonks, and I'll be one of your instructors for this course. Your second instructor will be Severus – oh, to you guys, Professor Snape –"

Potter groaned quietly. Hermione snorted at his discomfort, also feeling a little of the same emotion.

"- and hopefully, you guys'll have a fun time while doing this course. What's going to happen is that every Thursday, you'll be filing in here for a tutorial lesson, and Severus 'nd I'll teach you some concepts and take you through a practical, to help reinforce your learning. We'll also give you homework, since, well, it's a university course. Also, we're going to issue all you guys with a textbook that we will read through in stages as we move through the course. These readings will be vital to our learning, so _please_ do so."

Professor Snape appeared from where Dumbledore had exited, and made his way over to where Tonks was, although not getting close to where she was, obviously from dislike of her. He began to speak as well.

"I will be your second instructor, as _Nymphadora –" _he leered at Tonks, shocking them all (except Harry) with knowledge of her first name – "has mentioned. Now, I do not expect you all to do exceptionally, as I do not believe that you can. What I _do_ expect of you are exemplary manners, continual attendance at tutorials as long as you are participating, and your complete attention when we demonstrate and teach. Spell-making is not to be taken lightly; it's dangerous, and can have adverse, even fatal, effects upon you and those around you. Should you demonstrate any clumsy treatment of the art of spell-making, I will see fit to permanently expel you from this course, and I have the power to put it on your transcript for the future."

They all nod; they're disconcerted by the fact that one of their instructors is the _esteemed _Professor Snape. Hermione feels a bit like punching Snape's face, herself – though this is a fleeting thought, as she's paranoid that he'll use Legilimency on her. Well, she's not entirely sure that he's a Legilimens, but to be around Potter and not have been ordered to kill him yet must have meant that he kept certain happenings around him secret. And the only way for that to happen was Occlumency, which usually went hand-in-hand with learning Legilimency.

"I think," Professor Snape says, "the best way to start this session is to get you to try and perform non-verbal spells."

"Why, sir?" pipes up a seventh-year on the other end of the line of seats.

"Because," Professor Snape rounds on him, "Non-verbal magic involves the casting of spells _without saying anything_, yes? Hence, realise that you need to fuel the spell with your _intent, _such that your _intent _and _want _to perform that spell is enough to cast it. Spell-making involves creating a spell to perform the task you want it to, and hence, requires a lot of intent behind your incantation to produce it as a spell. Otherwise, it won't work. Do you understand, numbsk – student?"

The group of thirty now understands more (at the expense of the seventh year) – well, except for Hermione. She knows it already.

"Now, Nymphadora –"

"_Tonks," _the woman being named hisses. Which is quite natural for someone to do if they hate the name you're given. _Doubtless, _Hermione notes, _it'd be a good and easy way to rile her up._

"_Nymphadora _and I will demonstrate the use of non-verbal magic. Watch and see if you can identify the spells being used, as well as the way we cast the spell – then see if you can guess the right counter," Snape mutters. With a curt nod at Tonks, he takes his place on the centre-right of the glossy floor. Tonks moves to her position on the centre-left. A quick inclination of Snape's head is all the warning that Tonks gets, and then a red light streaks quickly across the distance between them.

_It's stupefy, _Hermione identifies quickly. _Protego._

And that is the charm that Tonks counters Snape's spell with. The class watches Tonks almost-gracefully move to cast the shield, and the spell dissipates cleanly against the shield, whereupon the shield vanishes. It's beautiful to watch.

And so begins the witch and wizard's silent duel. They watch and behold and admire that which they can't do.

Hermione is feeling envious of the beauty of the whole damned thing.


	3. Chapter 3

The only excuse I can offer here for my lateness is that a third of the last two months were spent at computer science camps (and that doesn't even excuse the remaining thirds). Sorry. :P Also, I'm not sure if I've mentioned that the characters are considerably OOC. Apologies. More apologies for the Ron bashing, too. It's not because I hate Ron, it's just how this panned out. What else...? Oh, apologies++ for the sometimes inappropriate horny and/or random content. (this was written while I wasn't entirely sane, and I'm a lazy person who rarely edits)

_~ Ness_

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**Glisseo - Chapter 3**

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She can see that they're utterly focussed on the duel. Their eyes are tracking the other's movements, and were Tonks more graceful, it could have been seen as a dance. If not them, the lights striking out seem to be engaging in a passionate dance. It is pretty and highly engaging. Both make no sounds, not even a grunt for if they feel the strong impact of a poorly defended spell.

After at least ten minutes of stunning duelling, Tonks is disarmed when Snape unleashes _Glisseo _while she's standing on the stairs which extend from the stage (where the teachers' table normally sits) to the floor. She slips, and falls rather ungracefully onto the ground. Snape casts _Expelliarmus_, and Tonks has lost her first duel of the course.

And of course, they clap. They haven't seen a duel like that before.

"Elegance is not a dispensable luxury but a quality that decides between success and failure," Snape notes.

He proffers his hand to Tonks, so that she can get up more easily, but she vigorously shakes her head and quickly (but unsteadily) pulls herself off the floor. Once she's up, she casts a counter to _Glisseo _and the stairs are looking as if they were never transfigured. The two turn to the class, some open-mouthed in awe and some blank, contemplative and going over what they saw in their head.

Tonks is talking. "So, guys, what did you notice about the duel?"

Potter doesn't bother putting his hand up. He goes straight into it. "Well, quite frankly, you lost."

At Tonks's quirked eyebrow, he moves on. "Firstly, you maintained eye contact with the person you were casting the spell on. Secondly, you were completely focussed on casting the spell or charm, as well as blocking those sent at you. Thirdly, you were as quiet as possible."

Tonks nods, and begins to speak. "Good, Potter, you got the gist of it. In non-verbal spell casting, you need to focus on the spell that you want to cast, and force all your intent behind it – so that it actually executes the way you intend it to. Hence, you can't afford to have distractions – sounds, even. You shouldn't make sounds while casting non-verbally. Lastly, the thing you wouldn't be able to notice unless you were a Legilimens –" she throws a quick look at Snape, who returns the look with a scowl.

Well, at least that affirmed her suspicions about Snape.

"- is that just about everyone who casts non-verbal spells shout it in their head. Of course, this won't help when facing a Legilimens, but let's just ignore that. We'll cover that later. So, yes – when casting non-verbal charms, think or shout the spell name in your head. It's a hard habit to curb should you train to face a Legilimens non-verbally, but for just about all other purposes, it's more than fine."

Snape is seen agreeing with Tonks's little speech. He comes closer to them now, all their backs against the walls as if they were bound there with super-glue._ It's his turn to speak, his body language seems to indicate, _Hermione notices, through observation of body-language. And so he does.

"Split up into pairs. There should be no one left out, as attendance is...alright for this lesson." The Potter boy sidles up to her.

"Hey, Granger," he smiles, the smile barely touching the corners of his lips. It's indubitably a forced smile, which only hurts to see.

"Hermione, not Granger," she blurts out, then turns red not long after. What'd driven her to allow him to call her Hermione? Well. Granger wasn't _that_ nice a name, and it's not as if everyone who calls her Hermione is her friend. Harry Potter nods, and offers her a hand to get help her stand up.

"I can get up _myself_, thank you very much," she spits, somewhat disgusted by his chivalrous actions, which imply that she is a weakling. He nods again, in acquiescence, and turns to face Tonks and Snape, standing out the front. Hermione gets up and stiffly moves beside him, though keeping a safe distance such that he will not be able to accidentally touch her. If he did…well, she might _accidentally _touch him back. And that would be disastrous.

"Now, what I first want you all to do is to practice casting _Lumos _silently. So, do what you'd normally do, but state or shout the incantation in your head. Try and _make _yourself _really _want this to happen, and then cast the spell in your head and with your wand. I'll give you twenty minutes to do this. I don't expect you all to be able to do it, but that's ok – it'll just help us gauge the speed at which we go through this course. Now, start," Tonks instructs. With a smile, she waves her wand and _Lumos_ lights up the end of her wand.

_Merlin, it looks effortless, _Hermione thinks despondently. As she watches those around her attempt to cast the spell, she decides to have a shot at the spell.

She sees Potter manage the spell on his first go, and she grits her teeth, frustrated at his apparent perfection. Tonks sighs. Snape sneers, stalks over to Potter, and appears to Legilimise him ("Try it without thinking Lumos, boy."). The Boy-Who-Lived scowls, and casts _Lumos _wordlessly again.

Snape scowls harshly, and dismisses him. "Get out, Potter."

And he does, but not before winking slightly at Hermione. She blushes, and narrows her eyes at him. Slightly contradictory actions, but she can't control her wretched blood flow. Turning her back on him, she begins to practise casting _Lumos _silently. Of course.

_Lumos, _she whispers in her mind, trying to feel like she really wanted this to happen. She doesn't feel any magic taking hold in her wand; her wand isn't lighting. _It's only your first try, _she tells herself, before going for another try.

_Lumos, _she states firmly in her mind; and frustrated by her first failure, feels an uprising of emotion accompanying her incantation. Still, the wand isn't lighting and she's going to be bloody damned if she can't get the most basic spell to work non-verbally. _For Merlin's sake, Potter got it on his first go!_

_But he's exceptional. You know that, _she reminds herself. _And he's had so much help._

_He's only human, though. If he can do it, I can too, _she argues with herself.

_Then rightfully, so should the rest of the wizarding population, _something in her brain snarks. _And very few can, can't they?_

Her brain was grasping at straws. _So I'm not exceptional if I can't do it._

_No, not necessarily, _the snarky voice reminds her, _you are probably the best witch in your year._

_Probably! _she panics. _But still not the most talented out of everyone, by any means!_

"What are you doing there, Granger? Admiring the handiwork of the Founders?" Snape throws an _Expelliarmus _at her wordlessly. Angered by his narkiness and her own thoughts, she releases a _Protego _without realising it.

She also doesn't realise that she's doing it silently. Most of the class is suddenly watching as her shield expands around her, flares upon blocking the spell, and disappears. Snape is arching an eyebrow, Tonks is smiling happily. "Well done, Miss -?"

"Granger," Hermione supplies.

"Well done, Miss Granger. See what you did there? It certainly seemed as thought you were angry, and I think this was the reason for which your silent _Protego _worked. Emotion is certainly a very powerful thing, but I wouldn't rely on it for duelling. But well done. Do you think you understand the feeling of casting a non-verbal spell"?"

She nods, somewhat delighted yet yearning to be able to cast it once again. So maybe she hasn't owned Potter at this new game, but she's cast a non-verbal spell, even if with the aid of emotion. Possibly cheating, really, but at least she knows she's capable of it, right?

A pitiful whining in the back of her mind tells her that she'd really have preferred that happening while Potter was here. She shuts it up by snarling _Shut up! _at herself.

"Now go back to practising _Lumos," _Tonks urges, and turns away to pay attention to the other (somewhat more inept) people in her class. Snape follows, but not before glaring at Hermione. He's only really trying to hide his meagre pride in Granger's ability. He's had to hide it a lot with Potter's abilities.

So Hermione resumes trying to cast it, and succeeds five minutes before their twenty minutes are up.

She feels how much she wants to cast the spell, and she can feel her magic dancing inside her. She pushes it into the wand and breathes _Lumos _in her mind…and the wand tip flares into brightness. Her mind revels in the awesomeness of her achievement (and, once again, wishes Potter was there to see it).

She beams, and Tonks comes over, clapping and gesturing towards the line of seats. "Get it working a few more times until you feel you've got it down pat, then feel free to sit until the next part of the lesson."

The next consecutive tries are all successful and she feels so good…she rides on a magic-induced high. It's completely and utterly and indubitably _giddifying. _Especially when her _Nox _works on her first go.

Once the time allotted for _Lumos _is past, they move onto spells of slightly higher difficulty – like _Expelliarmus _and _Protego. _Maybe eighty percent of them had managed _Lumos, _barely, but with the higher difficulties, they were struggling. Hermione doesn't quite breeze through them, but after a lot of effort and internal cussing she manages them. Tiring from them mental effort expended, she decides to sit down.

She watches gleefully as the others fail, but her glee is slightly dampened by the fact that Potter would wipe them all out, including her, if they were to participate in a duel with him. She has more reading to do, and is delighted when the instructors issue them with _Spell-Making: The Basics_. Firstly because she's read this one already, and understands the material, although unable to do all the exercises. Secondly, Potter hasn't been issued with a copy of it...maybe he already knew the material. Well, that was damn frustrating.

When she goes to bed, she is still giddy with the drug of success. Just before her mind fades out into sleep, she mindlessly wonders whether Potter liked the look of her form-fitting shirt and jeans.

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"So, Hermione," Ron probes, "how was the first tutorial lesson?"

Hermione has her nose in the advanced spell-making book she borrowed…literally. She's a bit…very, very sleepy. And maybe a bit inebriated from the magical high she had yesterday…so, maybe a little uninhibited. She grumbles into the musty pages. "It was good," she mutters softly, "and he was very smart."

Ron has his potential-boyfriend-for-Hermione alert on. Her last statement is triggering it. And, oh, _Merlin, _he's agitated. Honestly, she's…_his._ Well, he's the only one that she's close to. She's, by rights, his. Time to go all possessive and lovey on her.

The sequence of events was usually as thus: 1. He went possessive and snapped at her. 2. She cried and stopped speaking to him for a time. 3. They eventually made up. And what was apparent to him was that every time they made up, they were _that _little bit closer than before. He would throw hints at her, stronger than a raging bull –

Eh, wrong idiom.

"Let me guess," he snaps, "you've got a crush on somebody?"

"No," is her answer, "it's not a crush. Why does it matter, anyway? It's not like you're in love with me or something."

Ouch, that hurts.

Ron winces slightly – she's clueless. He's jealous. He's so underappreciated. He's about to mentally bemoan the unfairness of life, when Hermione gives a little snore. She's sleeping. He'll never get to get all possessive on her now...he's just missed his next opportunity to get closer to her.

"For the love of Merlin," he groans out loud.

"...will you please _be quiet?" _Madam Pince grinds out. He consequently shuts his trap, and decides to play his next tactic...falling asleep next to Hermione. It would be utterly perfect if the guy Hermione was obsessed with came in to see them sleeping next to each other. It was a beautifully evil plan, and easily executable were it not for the fact that he didn't know who Hermione was talking about. Still, that she mentioned _he was very smart _narrowed the possibilities down quite considerably.

Firstly, there was himself. Secondly, there was most of the Ravenclaw fifth to seventh years, possibly fourth. Thirdly, there were a few seventh years in Slytherin who were suspiciously intelligent. Hufflepuff? Yes, one guy in sixth year. And a few people in Gryffindor – none of which were better than him. Or so he thought.

Why couldn't she see that he, Ronald Bilius Weasley, was the one for her? The fated couple? She would be Hermione Weasley and they would have hot, passionate loving on the fold-out sofa bed. Their children would be adorable little frizzy-haired (_ugh, _he thinks. Maybe not frizzy.) children, with her dark chocolatey eyes and they would grow up with their mother's incredible intelligence and his manly courage.

Enraptured by his engaging fantasies of him with Hermione, he runs his pale fingers through her bushy hair, wondering how on earth he could grasp her head properly in a kiss.

He accidentally falls asleep and unconsciously whimpers at the thought of _his _love having hot loving with another man.

Potter walks into the library and sees the whimpering boy next to a peaceful Hermione. He simpers, and goes off to the Restricted Section.

A loud yell awakens Hermione and Ron, and they jump up, startled. A visibly angry Potter stalks out of the library, and Hermione dashes after him. A consequently angry Ron swears, and upon reprimand from Madam Pince, slowly puts their books away. Chasing after his girl is so difficult. But oh, she will be so perfect...he just has to eliminate his main threat first. It would be easy. Come on, he has straight EEs...well, and maybe a few As. That's, like, fucking awesome. His Inner Eye was seeing a dark and difficult path ahead of him, but after sticking with Hermione for so many years, he's expecting some kids out of her at least. He will stop at nothing to get her...well, he might stop if someone threatened to cut off his balls. Man pride and libido and all.

He can imagine trying out his newly plagiarised and modified pick up lines on her. _"Your wand isn't the only thing that's 10¾ inches around here," _he'd say. And she would blush and fold herself delicately into his strong, manly arms, and her beautiful cleavage would stare at him–

Snape is staring at him, furious, in the library entrance. Fuck, he'd been daydreaming about Hermione while staring at Snape. It's a bloody good thing that he can't read minds. What was it called? – lewillymens. Something like that. Oh, le-willy-mens! Man, he was so witty.

"Something funny, Mr. Weasley?" his Potions teacher enquired, the hint of a snarl riding on his tone. "Probably. You're so infantile that you'll find your own panties funny."

He walks into the Restricted Section. Ron is dumbfounded – hence, has no resulting reply in his own mind. He shrugs, and goes back to sleep, resuming his dreams of blissful baby making with Hermione.

Snape sneers at the sleeping Weasel on his way out.


End file.
